


A Series of Small Things

by tattooedsiren



Series: Exclusively Yours verse [3]
Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooedsiren/pseuds/tattooedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey invites Mike to be his plus-one for a charity benefit. By the end of the evening their relationship will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> Third fic in the EY verse but can be read as a stand alone. This actually takes place two years before the events of love consists in this.

 

A Series of Small Things

 

_Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together_ – Vincent Van Gogh

 

"You wanted to see me?"

Harvey waves Mike into the room with a miniscule movement of hand. Mike collapses onto the couch with ease, watching as Harvey rifles through the papers and folders on his desk. Mike assumes he is about to be handed another case and groans internally. It's been a long day (and week, and month), and the idea of having to process a whole new lawsuit exhausts him just thinking about it. So imagine his surprise when Harvey sits on the chair opposite him and hands him a small piece of paper.

"You're my plus one. We're leaving in an hour."

Mike looks closer. It's an invitation to a benefit at MoMA. The paper of the invitation looks like it cost more than every book in Mike's apartment combined. He quickly scans the invite for key words ( _West 53rd St, 7pm, Post-Impressionism, formal_ ). There are a million questions floating thick and fast through his mind (the loudest being 'why me?'). But he knows better to ask, for he won't get the answers he expects (if Harvey answers at all), so all he can say is, "Okay."

"You don't have time to get back to Brooklyn and change. See Donna and she will lend you a key to the partners bathroom. You can wash up in there."

"Is this okay?" Mike asks, indicating his entire person, and the words feel idiotic as soon as they leave his mouth.

The look he gets in return is classic Harvey, and Mike is already laughing. Harvey says nothing (no words were really necessary) and instead stands and crosses the room to the small closet in the corner of the office. He pulls out a black suit bag.

Mike stands slowly, not quite believing what he is seeing. He waits as Harvey returns to him, and for the first time he feels like Harvey is avoiding his gaze.

"Here," Harvey says, handing the bag over. "Finish what you are doing and get ready. I'll meet you in the lobby in an hour."

And then he turns and walks back to his desk, a silent dismissal that Mike can't help but obey. He walks out of the office to see Donna, who hands him a key before he can even ask for it, and he walks back to his desk in a daze.

There is something that feels different about this. And it shouldn't, because he and Harvey have been working together for two years now, and it's not like they haven’t attended events together before, it's not like he hasn't borrowed one of Harvey's suits before, it's not like Harvey hasn’t commandeered his Friday night at the last minute before. But there is something in the air, something he can't quite indentify or define, and it feels off, like he is out of focus or two seconds behind everyone.

These thoughts consume him as he sits at his cubicle, but then it's time and he needs to get ready. He actually has to call Donna and ask where exactly the partners bathroom is (it's not like he has ever had occasion to know before now) and he eventually makes his way upstairs.

The bathroom is nicer than any he has seen in real life, and he thinks it would be worth making partner for this room alone. He showers quickly and pulls Harvey's suit from the bag. While he could never claim to care about the whole clothes thing as much as Harvey does (he doesn’t think _anyone_ cares as much as Harvey), he can't deny that this is a gorgeous suit. The shirt is darker than he normally wears, a dark charcoal, and it is perfectly matched with a metallic silver tie.

But the thing is, as he slowly dresses he realises that each item of clothing appears to fit him perfectly. He and Harvey are similar in size, close enough that that one time he borrowed Harvey's suit he could wear it without feeling like the clothes were hanging off his frame, but he is definitely the smaller of the two, and this suit fits him perfectly. Almost like it was made for him.

And that's when he realises, with a small start, that it was. It must have been. He can't recall Harvey ever wearing these clothes, and he can't imagine, even without eidetic memory, he would ever forget Harvey wearing a suit that would clearly be a size or two too small (not to mention the skinny tie, which probably should have been the big giveaway).

He just stands there, staring at himself in the mirror as the information rolls around his mind. He can understand the logistics – Rene has all his measurements so it wouldn’t be impossible to get a perfectly tailored suit for him – but he just can't understand the reason. Not to mention the timing. He had imagined that Harvey's actual plus one cancelled at the eleventh hour and he was a last minute replacement. But there is nothing last minute about a perfectly tailored suit – he would have had to order it weeks, maybe even months prior. And as hard as he tries, his brain just cannot process this information.

He leaves the bathroom, drops his old suit in his cubicle and rushes downstairs to meet Harvey (who is tapping his foot and glares when he sees Mike, ten minutes late).

"I know, I'm sorry," Mike says.

"You're late," Harvey says, like Mike doesn’t already know, like Mike hasn’t already apologised for it.

"Shall we?" he says, in lieu of apologising again, which would probably get them caught in some vicious cycle.

They head out of the building and into the back seat of their waiting car. They are silent in the ride over, the sound of soft jazz filling the space between them. Mike doesn’t know the song, but there is something familiar and comforting about it. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Harvey tapping his fingers to its rhythm and a thought steals into his mind, unbidden and unforeseen: it's familiar to him because it's familiar to Harvey. It creates a comforting cacoon around them, safe and strong, blocking out everything except for the two of them, as though the only thing in this world that matters is Mike and Harvey and the space between them.

He takes a deep breath, needing the air in his lungs to calm himself from these distracting thoughts. Harvey looks to him, concerned. "You okay?"

Mike doesn’t want to look at him, scared that from one look Harvey will know every thought in his mind and feeling in his soul. He stares out the window, concentrates on his breathing, trying to stop the thundering of his heart.

"Mike?"

And then there is the lightest pressure of Harvey's hand on his arm.

"I'm fine," he finally answers, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Harvey knows he is lying.

But Harvey lets it go, doesn't press until it hurts, and Mike can't help the surge of affection he feels for his boss in that moment.

The car slows as they arrive at their destination. Ray and Harvey confirm pick up times and plans while Mike looks out the window, eyes taking in all the strangers in their suits and gowns. When the car finally stops, Ray opens the door for Harvey, while Mike happily opens his own damn door and waits for Harvey to join him. Harvey pulls the invite from his suits inner jacket pocket as they make their way inside.

 

*

 

Harvey doesn't particularly like these kinds of functions, but it's a necessity for his job so he determines to at least make the effort worthwhile. So he puts on his brightest smile and conjures interesting (if not always accurate) anecdotes and treats every conversation as though the person two feet away is a potential client in need of closing.

The evening is finally drawing to a close, and the crowd has already started to thin. He crosses the gallery to the bar and asks for a water, having reached his scotch limit two drinks ago. He stands in the corner for a moment, alone for the first time all evening, and scans the room.

He can see why they chose this location. Its high white ceilings and dark wooden floors somehow make the room feel both epic in scale and warm in feeling. There are a few paintings on the walls of this main room, but most of the art is contained to four smaller galleries that lead off this area. Security guards in plain black uniforms act as a barrier between the party and the art, confiscating drinks from patrons as they move into the smaller rooms.

He hasn't seen Mike in a while, so decides to go find him. He leaves his drink on the bar and slowly wanders the room, shaking hands with a few people he has still yet to greet at this late stage.

He finds Mike exactly where he anticipated. He nods to the guard standing in the entry to the small room consisting exclusively of Van Gogh paintings. Mike is alone, sitting on a cushioned seat and staring at a painting Harvey has never seen before. He sits down beside Mike.

"Having a good evening?"

Mike turns to him, and he can see remnants of the wonder at which he was looking at the painting still on his face. "I am now."

Mike turns his attention back to the painting, as though he can't bear to stop looking at it. Harvey follows his gaze, tries to see what it is that enthrals him so.

"Why did you bring me tonight, Harvey?" Mike asks, surprising him.

Harvey knows that events like these still make Mike nervous. It's been two years and still at every turn Mike thinks someone will discover the truth and their secret will be blown. But the best defence is a good offence and he wants Mike to understand that, to know that the more he converses with strangers and believes the lies he tells about his time at Harvard the easier it will become.

"Because it's a good chance for you to network, make contacts, make people believe the lie we tell them."

Mike turns back to him. "Is that the only reason?" he asks, and the way he looks at him makes Harvey feel raw and exposed.

"No," he admits. He sighs. "I figured you'd be a fan," he indicates the wall lined with Van Goghs, "so I thought you would want to come and see them for yourself."

"How did you know I liked Van Gogh?"

"It wasn't a massive leap. Dutch, Amsterdam, marijuana…"

"Oh ha ha," Mike says, rolling his eyes.

Harvey laughs. And for some unknown reason, he finds himself confessing the truth. "Mike, I might not have a genius memory like some people, but that doesn’t mean I forget everything I see."

Mike quirks an eyebrow, confused.

"I have had the unfortunate need to visit you in that shoebox you call an apartment and the _Starry Night_ print was fairly hard to miss."

He can see the emotions flicker over his face in seconds – realisation, understanding, surprise, gratitude. And Harvey looks away, because the more he looks into Mike's eyes the more something inside him twists and turns in ways he can't rationalise.

They continue looking at the painting, and Harvey is grateful that this topic of conversation has ceased, because if Mike asked if _that_ was the only reason, he's not sure he could successfully lie that it was. Because really, he invited Mike because out of everyone he knows Mike is the only person he likes spending time with when he doesn't have to.

"You bought me a suit," Mike says after a few minutes of silence, and this random change of topic throws Harvey for a loop.

"Sorry?"

"You bought me a suit. Why?"

"Because I knew an occasion would arise where you would need a decent suit, that is one that costs more than a hundred bucks, and that it would probably be at short notice. Hence, I created a solution before the problem could arise. It's a theory you might want to practice if you want to become a halfway decent lawyer."

Harvey realises, too late, that his words may have sounded harsher than he intended. But Mike doesn't seem offended, so he thinks everything will be okay.

"Thank you," Mike says, his voice soft and genuine, and adds, "For the suit," when Harvey looks at him with confusion.

"You're welcome," he replies earnestly. And he suddenly thinks that he would do whatever it took to get Mike to look at him like that again. He doesn’t know if he feels terrified or liberated by the idea.

Mike looks back to the painting, and Harvey can't help but ask, "Okay. I don't get it. What is your fascination with this painting? You can barely take your eyes off it."

"It's called _Almond Blossom_ and it usually resides at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. Van Gogh painted it in 1890, a few months before he died, in celebration of the birth of his nephew."

"None of those things explain your particular fascination for it."

Mike pulls his eyes away from the picture. "I remember seeing a copy of it in a book when I was younger. It was the first Van Gogh I ever remember seeing, actually. I've always wanted to see the real thing, but obviously since it lives in Amsterdam and I live in New York I never thought I actually would. Until you brought me here."

Harvey tears his eyes from Mike's (with great difficulty). He looks at the painting, tries to see what Mike sees.

"It's even more beautiful in person. I mean, just look at that colour. Have you ever seen anything that colour in real life? And the paint is so thick, you can see every brush stroke, like it was painted yesterday as opposed to a hundred and twenty years ago."

Harvey stares at the painting, hard, but try as he might, he just can't summon the will to care about it as much as Mike does. He can hear the passion in Mike's voice, knows that this means the world to him, and to know he gave that to him is enough.

"You really don't like it, do you?" Mike asks, but there is a light laugh in his voice so Harvey knows he won't get offended.

"Honestly, no. Sorry. Art was never really my thing. I'm much more of a written word kinda guy."

Mike shrugs. "Nobody's perfect."

He says it with sparkling eyes and a bright grin and suddenly Harvey _wants_. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, like it was always there inside him, so the revelation which should feel shocking or life-altering instead simply feels like breathing.

He feels the air between them change, like his want has affected the very atmosphere of the room. He can see Mike tense slightly, confused by this sudden shift between them, but he doesn't break their gaze or move away, and it gives Harvey strength.

"Mike?" Harvey says, and his voice is low and rough.

"Yeah?"

Harvey leans forward, presses his lips to Mike’s, eliciting a small surprised noise. He moves his mouth against Mike's, coaxes his lips to part. They kiss slow and tentative, until Mike breaks off the embrace, getting up off the couch and taking a few steps away in one fluid motion.

The sting of rejection punctures Harvey's heart. He pushes it down though, other concerns more important at this moment. "Are you okay?" He doesn't apologise, which given the current set of circumstances is probably the more appropriate response, but he doesn't say 'I'm sorry' because he's really not.

Mike nods, though he can't seem to stand still, pivoting on the spot. "I just need a moment. To process."

And Harvey can't help but grant him that, because in truth he could probably do with the same. This is not how he envisioned his day ending when it started sixteen hours previous, but searching his mind and heart for regret he comes up empty. He might not have foreseen this but that doesn’t mean it wasn't always going to happen.

"How?" Mike asks. "When?"

Harvey knows what he is asking, but the truth is that he doesn't have the answers. "I don't know."

There is a noise from the outer gallery, and they both look over. The security guard, face impassive, merely tips his head, indicating the main room which is emptying itself of party goers.

Harvey stands, buttoning his suit jacket. He detours to Mike, hand firm on the small of his back, silently communicating to him that it's time to go. Mike nods and they walk side by side to the main gallery, joining the crowd of people as they exit the building.

Mike doesn't say anything, and not wanting to push, Harvey remains silent too. But then he feels the light touch of Mike's hand, and taking this small hint and running with it, he entwines their fingers together.

The night air is mild and they disentangle themselves from the crowd, walking to meet Ray a block away. Mike drops Harvey's hand, now they are outside the cover of the crowd, and Harvey doesn't press the point. They walk in silence, and all Harvey can think is that somehow he knows that, for better or worse, nothing will be the same after this.

Ray is waiting for them, back door open. There is a moment of awkward silence when they reach the car, neither knowing what happens next.

"Ray, can you give us a minute?" Harvey asks.

Ray nods, shutting the door and getting into the front of the car, leaving them alone.

"Do you wanna come back to my place?" Harvey asks, and he can't recall ever being so nervous asking this question.

Mike exhales. "Yeah, I do." But then, after a beat, he adds, "But I'm not going to."

Harvey furrows his brow, feeling more confused than ever. "If this is a one-shot deal for you, Harvey, then I'm not interested. I refuse to risk the relationship we have for that. But if you are serious, if you want to explore this for real, then call me tomorrow. We can see how we feel in the daylight hours and take it from there."

"That sounds awfully grown up and responsible, you know."

Mike grins. "I have my moments."

And then Mike kisses him, both hands on his cheeks, lips firm and sure against his own. But the moment is over almost as soon as it began, and then Mike is walking away.

"Hey, Mike," Harvey calls. Mike turns, and he says, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."


End file.
